Kill me, o Romeo, and cradle me in your grave
by Hihippy
Summary: "Kill Dean Winchester." Set during Season 8, Castiel is given orders from Naomi. A result of several drabble prompts.


Castiel finds himself in the room. Clinical. Bright. Blinding. He frowns as he peers down, only to find that Naomi is stood an uncomfortable distance close to him; nostalgia seeps into his grace and he shudders.

Naomi's finely shaped eyebrows furrow as her head tilts. "What is wrong, Castiel?"

"...-"

"It does not matter. I have orders for you."

"Orders?"

"Yes. I have been waiting some time to relay them to you; However, I haven't until now. I had to ensure your loyalty to the host.

Castiel doesn't respond. Naomi smiles, as though tasting the reaction.

"Kill Dean Winchester."

Castiel feels his self flood with trepidation. His chest, or at least where his chest would be if he was human, tightens. "What? No, I couldn't-"

"That's an order, Castiel. You can let him know it's an order from Heaven in line with your retribution. He has no use for the Host now. In fact, he's become a nuisance. The three trials in order to close the Gates of Hell? He's attempting to prevent Sam Winchester from completing them. Those trials can only work in Heaven's favour. You have to stop him. There is no choice in this matter."

* * *

It is four months before Dean hears anything. Not a peep in between then.

The arrival, of course, is sudden and mainly unexpected. Dean is making his way through a self-cooked meal, legs propped up on a table in the 'batcave', having just swallowed half a fry before he hears the familiar rustle of wings before him. He jumps, not out of shock of the abruptness, but out of sheer relief.

"Cas?!"

Castiel stands there, looking dormant and nonplussed as always. However, He nods and smiles at Dean.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean doesn't quite know what to do from there. Sam is around (somewhere), and it's not as though Cas had just popped off for vacation for two weeks. In the end he remains in the seat, feet planted on the ground. His voice and expression betray each other. He frowns.

"Where the hell have ya' been, man? We've been tryin' to get a hold of you for ages. We've needed you, man-"

"Yes, I... apologise, Dean. I've been helping people. I've been returning to Heaven, attempting to rebuild what I've destroyed. I... I think I'm improving, Dean. I... feel... better."

Dean watches him, suddenly frowning. Castiel holds eye contact for a few moments, before (almost shyly) ducking his head down and to the side, busying himself with looking around the room. Dean inclines his head, nodding to himself in sad confirmation.

"Huh. That's great, Cas." He follows Castiel's gaze. "Hey, why didn't you ever tell me or Sam about the whole Men of Letters thing? Would've helped with a load of stuff, y'know."

"Er. It was never relevant, I suppose. And if I did tell you I still would not know of the location, nor where the key would be. Some of the angels might have known more. We aren't told much in the Host." He remarks. Dean sighs and shifts, pushing himself to his feet. He nods, again.

"Alright, then. Well, damn, Cas. It's great to see ya' back." He finishes, moving up and finally hugging him. He pats him on the back to aim him down the room, walking ahead. The angel complies, with no word. "Then I best catch you up by showin' you the new Winchester HQ. It's awesome, man, I've even..."

Castiel steps forward. A spark cracks across the room from somewhere, and fire ignites.

Castiel stills, and finds himself trapped in a ring of Holy Fire.

* * *

Both Sam and Dean are stood in front of him, fire dancing across their features. A tumulous fear of heavy-handed guilt smacks him with memory. His expression falls.

"What? Dean, what's going on? Sam?"

Dean folds his arms, emotionless. His lips thin. Sam speaks.

"Cas, I'm sorry, but we can't take any chances."

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"I think you damned well do. Really, Cas? You avoid Heaven like the plague because you're afraid of what it'll do to you, then you go and kill another one of your own brothers, return to Heaven and then disappear for months on end? Did you even hear any of our calls? My calls?"

"I had to stop running, I had to-"

"And then stop answering us? I told you not to do that, man. I told you..."

Sam steps forward at that, expression gentle. While Dean's features are hard lines, highlighted from the light of the fire, Sam's are soft. Inviting.

"Cas, please. What's going on? We can help you. What's happening up there?"

Bemusement fills the angel's face. He stares at Sam, unsure how to answer him. He shakes his head.

"Nothing - Sam, I don't-"

"Bullcrap! Tell me, you- ...son of a bitch..."

Dean has to turn away. Castiel relents, but for reasons even unknown to him his throat feels thick as he does it. He stares after his back, and looks down.

"I have orders, from Heaven. To kill Dean."

Silence.

Dean's voice breaks it, strained and full of betrayal. Castiel wants to run at the sheer memory.

"... And you're going to try it?..."

For the first time, Castiel doubts. His pupils dart, trying to find an explanation, anywhere, anything reasonable to explain his upcoming actions.

"It's - Dean, they're orders. I can't betray them. I need to - I need to repent, I need to find forgiveness and they've finally given me a way, Dean, listen to me, you understand-"

Sam has to twist and turn to face Dean as his elder brother swings around, eyes full of rage, before he can charge and do something stupid. He's so tensed up he can't form words to shout at the angel. Sam turns his head back to Castiel, lips turning in utter disbelief.

"And after all you've done to help us, after all you've given up, Cas... you're going to become Heaven's bitch again?..."

Something in Dean breaks. Eyes widen, expression drops, and he freezes. He slackens, and just stares, helpless. Castiel can barely bring himself to look; he appears so damned.

"Son of a bitch..."

Castiel shuffles.

"Dean, please, listen-"

"No. You know what? I don't have to listen to a word you have to say. Is this it, Cas? You've been using us? You decide to listen to Heaven and try to kill me, after everything I've- after everything you've- you're willing to go away, just like that? It just doesn't make sense, man. It just doesn't... "

Sam casts him a worried glance as Dean's voice breaks. Again, he has to turn away, falling from Sam's resistance. Castiel looks between the two of them, more pressing matters on his mind.

"Of course, I can't do anything now you've trapped me in Holy Fire. Maybe - Maybe I can make you understand - Dean, this isn't about you –"

He only laughs, dryly. He doesn't turn around.

"Bullshit."

"Why don't you listen to me?-"

Dean turns, mouth half open to tell him exactly why he doesn't, before halting, eyes wide.

The Holy fire extinguishes, and Castiel disappears. The only hint is a second echo of wings.

Dean curses, grabs a chair, and flings it across the room. It shatters against the wall, landing crumpled and broken in pieces.

* * *

Castiel appears to Dean in the middle of the night. It's pitch black, but Dean is simply sat on his bed. His shoes are still on his feet and there's a bottle of beer clutched in his hand. Castiel remains still, though he knows that the Winchester is very aware of his appearance. Awkwardly, he shifts.

"I would have thought that you would have drawn angel sigils."

"Sam did, but they weren't accurate." Dean speaks, not looking at the angel. Slowly, he turns, feet swinging over the edge of the bed, placing them on the ground. The last thing to point to Castiel is his eyes. They're hard.

"Why didn't you correct them?"

Dean sighs, eyes closing for a moment.

"Because. I don't believe you're going to do it. Not again. You can't be doing this crap again, Cas. Remember what happened last time we were like this, Cas?"

"These are completely different circumstances."

"Are they? Last I remembered, last time we were in this situation you were also speaking crap. And you were sneaking up on me in the middle of the night. Gotta stop that, man. It's creepy."

Castiel doesn't know what to do. He wasn't expecting to be able to enter the Winchester's presence again so easily, and he wasn't expecting Dean to be willing to talk. The angel blade is sheathed, but he doesn't do anything with it - in fact, he fidgets with it awkwardly in his hand, unsure himself whether he wants to handle it. Dean watches him, mouthing 'huh' when the moonlight manages to catch off it.

"You're really gonna try, aren't you?"

"It's orders, Dean."

"And since when have you ever cared about some fucking orders?!" Dean yells, and suddenly he's a mass of rage, leaping to his feet, stamping up to the angel. He'd be grabbing and yanking him about if it wasn't for the slight threat he knew he was at. He might not be willing to believe Cas' words, but he sure wasn't going to take them lightly despite everything. "What's happened, Cas? What has Heaven done to you to screw you over this much? You gotta talk to me, man. You gotta let me help." He shakes his head, volume falling. He's practically begging, pleading, and something inside Castiel, something wholly inhuman, finds this pathetic. He isn't quite sure where it comes from, and it surprises him slightly. He remains silent.

Dean stares at him, before nodding. He's quiet.

"Alright. Fine."

He moves, places the beer bottle down, and gently reaches forward. Dean grasps the angel blade, and Castiel lets him, simply watching for now.

Dean moves the angel blade, and places it against his chest. He places the point over his heart and holds it there. He refuses to look away from Castiel, who simply stares back in confusion.

"Go on, then."

Castiel doesn't move. He's frowning. He whispers.

"... Dean..."

"C'mon, you son of a bitch. Kill me and get it over and done with, if that's what you're gonna do." His voice breaks, grasp on angel blade trembling. Castiel still doesn't move, and something inside of him is terrified to. One wrong move and he could really kill Dean. But that's what he set out to do, wasn't it?

"I don't understand," he murmurs, mainly to himself, but Dean laughs, a horrid, lifeless laugh.

"Then neither of us do." He mutters back, grasping the blade. He forces it further, insistent, but doesn't injure himself. "It's what you wanna do, right?"

"...Why are you helping me...?"

He doesn't respond, and instead refuses to meet Castiel's gaze. After a hesitant moment, his free hand reaches up and lightly brushes Castiel's jawline, almost tenderly. It's only when the angel gives no response does Dean drop his hand, and he sighs shakily. He closes his eyes.

"Dammit. Why- Why did you ever do it all in the first place, Cas? Why did you turn against everything you were just to help me? Look what it's done to you. Look what I've made you do." He swallows, hard, the blade still resilient against his chest. "Y'know what? I deserve this - after everything -" His voice breaks. He can only set green irisses against blue before he has to push it away, moist. "I've broken you, Cas. I've broken the one thing that gave a damn about me outside of family. Dammit, _just do it already!_"

Castiel falters. The angel blade loosens in his grasp, to the point that it's Dean who's now got any grip on it. His voice is quiet.

"I thought you believed I wouldn't go ahead with it."

"Dammit Cas, you coward-"

"Why am I listening to you?!-"

The angel blade drops with a clatter and Castiel falls to his knees. He grips his head in his hands, gasping. He feels as though he's about to split apart at the seams, grunting in a crumpled mess on the floor.

Surprisingly, Dean joins him, taking him by the shoulders. He's panicking.

"Cas?_ Cas!_"

The angel whispers, looking up at Dean, unseeing.

"What are-"

"Cas, listen to me-"

"Heaven—"

"Cas, c'mon, we can sort this out, don't listen to them-"

"Dean—"

"Cas..."

Castiel falls silent. He stills. His hands relax, and slip away. Slowly, he straightens up and stares over the Winchester's shoulder, blank. He ignores Dean's touches, to which Dean sort of leans back, frowning. He's worried.

"Cas?"

Suddenly, Castiel grabs Dean and shoves him up against the wall, angel blade in hand. He stares at Dean, and they stay like that for at least a minute. All sentimentality is gone from his eyes. They narrow, as though considering, as though reading something.

"Dean..."

He, (finally), leans forward, and their lips graze. They kiss, and Dean breathes sharply inward, before hesitantly, he closes his eyes, falling into it.

The angel blade is suddenly lunged against Dean's chest, and Castiel impales him. Dean's eyes snap open and as Castiel pulls away he gags, choking in pain, disbelief, and utter betrayal.

Dean dies in Castiel's arms, and the angel gently lays him back on the bed as though he was sleeping. He turns away from the body without a second glance. Orders.

It's not until some time later does Castiel realise he's crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. He will never quite figure out why.

* * *

Castiel never sees Sam Winchester again. He hears of him, of course; he hears the screamed prayers directed at him. Though Sam was a lot more calm than Dean was, all Castiel could ever hear in his tone was hate; the cries of a wounded animal.

Castiel never responds.

Castiel, in fact, doesn't return to Heaven. He's not requested to return up there, so why should he have any need to? He's perfectly content to remain on earth, helping people. That's what he was made to do, right? That's what he should do. Repentance. Castiel was slowly reaching there, every day.

But there are moments, moments when Castiel strolls through a park, and he sees two benches side by side; and he frowns. A day when he walks past a brothel and his chest tightens mysteriously. Then there's the one day he sees a rogue '67 Chevy Impala zoom past him on the road, and Castiel has to step back in an alleyway and double over, shaking as though all his Grace has been numbed over.

He finds himself, somehow, sat in the back of a diner after that, staring rather accusingly at the display picture of a burger on the menu. He doesn't move until the waitress approaches him. She has brown, coarse hair; plaited into a bun. She's not petite, but her height gives off the impression. She taps her pen with a notebook, and her lips stretch into a smile.

"How may I help you, sir?"

Castiel doesn't look up at her, a growing frown etching into his features. He looks sad. It's only after a discreet cough does Castiel seem to jump out of it. He shakes his head, turning to look up at her. He tumbles over his words.

"Er, I apologise, I don't-"

He freezes. The waitress smiles, and her eyes turn black.

Castiel shouldn't be stuck to the seat like this, staring at the demon with wide eyes. It's not as though the demon could hurt him, not unless it had a measurable amount of strength – not likely, anymore. But there were people in here, innocent civilians, and if a demon was approaching him for any reason - it wasn't good news.

He manages to grasp some sort of bearing, and he glares.

"What do you want?"

She smiles, a simple shrug of her shoulders, and slips into the opposite seat. The smile never leaves her.

"Oh, but here I was about to ask you some questions. Surely you should know what's going on, Castiel?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on. It's big news up and down below. I thought you were back in Heaven's favour, again? They should be keeping you up to date on these things."

A fist slams on the table. Castiel growls.

"Get to the point."

Leaning back, the demon smiles, lips twisting into a leer. "Wow, you sure have been kept out of the gossip. And here I was going to ask you why Dean Winchester was back in Hell..."

At once, Castiel's senses leave him. He's left with a wave of blind panic to lead him. "What?"

"C'mon, you must know about this, Cas my dear. After all, you were the one to send him down there."

Castiel stands up, feeling parts rage and parts horror. No. He croaks. "I was following orders - his - his soul was not labelled for Hell, it –"

"Poor Cassie, sending the man back to where you pulled him out –"

Castiel isn't aware of what he's done until his hands drip with blood and the whole diner is staring at him in terror. He blinks, a flood of memory disposing him into a sense of dull lethargy. Castiel shakes his head, backing away from the petrified peers. He scuffs against the back of the table and falls backwards, but disappears before he lands with a mad rush of wings.

* * *

Castiel doesn't know how he does it, but he finds himself back in Naomi's office, of his own choice. Naomi seems to be as surprised as he is, and stands up abruptly as soon as he appears. She quickly composes herself and tries to cover this thought up, eyes setting into her professional expression.

"Now, Castiel. To what do I owe the honour of your company? I haven't called you back."

"_Dean—_"

"He's in Hell, yes."

For the first time, everything about the office, about Heaven, feels real. Like he's actually there, and not some passing entity, apathetic to the goings on, nodding and beckoning like a small puppy. Wrath and pain energise him, and he storms up to her, grabbing her by the lapels of her suit.

"Why is he in Hell!?"

Naomi's façade falls, and she shoves at him. Castiel falls back, but remains standing, shoulders set. She glares. "You're questioning orders, Castiel. That is considered doubt. That is considered disobedience. Are you disobeying Heaven? After all that Heaven has done for you? When I sent aid in order to remove you from the Winchester's grasp? That is tantamount to-"

"Lucifer didn't destroy most of Heaven," Castiel cuts in, and something in him finally pushes past the outside force crawling at his Grace, whispering to submit. His angel blade sheaths, and in a violent scurry he has Naomi pinned to the table. She's looking up at him, apprehensively. Castiel is half surprised he manages to register this, pure fury running through his veins. His eyes narrow, faces close, shaking. "But _I_ did. I don't even know who you are, or why you've done this to me. Maybe I deserve it. But Dean doesn't, he never deserved any – any of this crap you've been pulling off lately. And even if I do deserve it, there is one thing I am certain of."

The angel blade shoves into Naomi and she screams, crying out as it goes into her shoulder. It's not enough to kill, but enough to cripple. It will serve as a warning to whatever remains in Heaven. Regret pulls in him that Castiel doesn't know what exactly that is, and never will, now. He stands back, angel blade gripped.

"_I am not Heaven's bitch_."

For the first time, Castiel leaves Heaven with his freedom.

* * *

It takes longer than he wants, but after a few spells, conversations with those of another realm, passing gossip, Castiel finds himself in the middle of a field in the back streets of Illinois, where a lone cross and a semi-fresh mound of dirt sit. Sam is most likely watching. The angel considers this good news.

He hasn't been cremated. Knowing the Winchesters this isn't surprising. He slowly makes his way over to the grave, and as Castiel stares down at the dirt he can sense the trace of his Grace imprinted onto the body six feet below - but just a body, and without the soul it's impression was starting to fade. Castiel stares. He falls to his knees as the horror of his actions truly hits him.

_I killed him._

Hands grasp helplessly at the grass in front of him, and he trembles, curling over as his head buries against the foot of Dean's grave. He whispers, brokenly.

"... _Dean_..."

The words want to mean so much more; unspoken apologies, belated confessions, a heart with regret. It does nothing, however, and the word falls away in the silence, empty. Castiel's shoulders heave in a sob, and an old, hardened part of him stares at himself in plain bewilderment.

"Dammit." He murmurs, and he pulls himself up, still slumping as he kneels before the grave. He stares at the cross, blearily, before sniffing and looking back down.

"I'm sorry, Dean." He whispers. a hand going over the mound. "I - I shouldn't, I –"

He cuts himself off, and breathes. It takes a few moments before he can open his eyes again. Blue eyes set. He's not strong enough any more to survive this, and he knows it. The first time he entered Hell he had the whole of his garrison to back him up, upon which many of his brothers and sisters were lost. The second time he had all his permissible strength, not contained by that of Heaven's will – and even then he'd only managed to pull out the shell of his intended raid. But what he was about to do no – there were no second qualms about it.

"I'm here to fix my mess."

Slowly, he stands. Enochian chants fall from his lips, and a few moments later, the whole field shines blue.

* * *

When Dean Winchester is resurrected, Sam is there to pull him out. After he overcomes the initial shock of being brought back to life, dehydration and hunger, Dean starts to question with dread written all over his face. All Sam does is shake his head, before returning him to the field where he was originally buried.

Of the remains of the field, half of the ground is charred in the shape of wings.

Dean doesn't know what to think of this; but somehow, he feels his heart shatter.

* * *

It isn't till later, when Dean undresses for a shower, does he find it.

The second hand print is splayed across the back of his waist, as though rather than grabbing him by the shoulder - his saviour had held him in an embrace as he pulled him out.


End file.
